


Opiate

by Petty_Dreamer



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Drug Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Master/Slave, More tags to be added, Prostitution, Sexual Slavery, Various Kinks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-05-14 20:27:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5757175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petty_Dreamer/pseuds/Petty_Dreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mister Valentine Hannen was a... Mysterious man to say the least, however his wealth hadn't come from nowhere. Nobody really knew what he did outside of gambling, but he made serious earnings that way. Scotland Yard had never paid him any mind. He operated however he wished without the wandering eye of investigative forces. And Lyall Moore had simply been a pretty middle-classed boy that'd been unfortunate enough to fall into Valentine's care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Suspender Man

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this seems quickly put together, I'm not really expecting anyone to read this but, enjoy~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, this is my first published work on this site so i'm probably not that great but please enjoy c:

The lamplighters roved the streets of the sleepy city as the sun began to set. It was early January and many windows glowed from the flickering fires in fireplaces inside. It had only been a few days beyond a week since the Shipton-on-Cherwell train crash and the death of Joseph Moore's sister Sarah. Mister Moore had been absolutely miserable since he'd received the news on Christmas morning the following day. He'd taken to drinking, finding his way to the pub almost every night since he'd found out. He'd lost his wife to consumption a few years prior and only had his son and sister until just recently. His son was a grown man now, sure to take to the world and find himself a wife leaving Joseph alone to drink away the rest of his days.

A thought came to him at the start of the new year in a feverish drunken stupor. He had it in his head that perhaps he could convince his son to stay should he have the money to support him. The wealthy often seemed to have their children remain with them long after they should have been married and gone. Granted, his own son had only recently come to the proper age to marry, and he'd yet to express any significant interest in women thus far as far as he knew. He still found himself lonely enough to do anything to ensure that his boy would remain home as long as possible. He'd begun to gamble. He started small, only using small sums of money. He'd managed to find himself making quite a bit of money this way. He found himself quickly becoming addicted to the wins and the thrill of that chance of losing.

And then the losing began. It started slow. He'd lose a little here and there and still walk away with a few more pounds than he'd started with. He'd grown cocky. He'd gamble several pounds at a time, and eventually gambled away every bit of money to his name... only to lose it. In a panic, he offered the only thing he had left in one last ditch effort to get his money back: his son. He was certain he'd get the money back and then he'd swear off gambling forever. Things had gotten out of hand. However, he'd lost. Again. His heart sank. There was nothing more to gamble away. He'd lost everything.

Valentine Hannen was decently well known through the city. He was wealthy, for one, and considered quite attractive, for two, and happened to be unmarried. He was taller than the average man, standing at six foot one, with short, finely coiffed dark brown hair and light brown eyes. His skin was fair and he dressed well, though didn't quite keep up with the trends the fops of the city seemed so determined to set. He had accepted the gamble and when Mister Moore had pleaded he at least leave him with his son, he'd laughed. A payment was payment, even were it human life. 

A day had passed. Two days had passed. Joseph Moore hadn't left the house. He dreaded Mister Hannen coming after his son. Three days had passed. Had he changed his mind? Was he not going to take him? A fourth day had passed. Mister Moore had gently eased, believing his son to be safe. He warned his son to be cautious. He begged him to lock the doors. He left him alone to head out to shop. It had been several days and their food supply had waned to little he was sure was even edible. Not quite ten minutes after he'd left, Mister Hannen was there. He had wet a cloth with chloroform and he had watched the house enough days to know the lock was weak. In Moore's absence, he strode to the house and broke the lock and made his way inside. 

He was cautious as he sought out the young Mister Moore and took extra care to stay in the shadows, not particularly wanting to deal with a fight. He caught him when his back was turned, pressing the damp cloth over his mouth and nose with the practiced precision of one who had done this far too many times. He waited for the young man to go lax. He hefted him up and made his way from the house, carrying him as if he were injured and he was merely escorting him to the doctor. He traveled mostly through the alleys to avoid sight and attention and brought him into his home. He undressed him with all the care of one not intent on waking their victim. He tied his arms behind his back and then tied his ankles together. He took a strip of cloth tied it to gag him. When he was certain he wouldn't have much of an opportunity to flee or cry for help, he lifted him up and carried him to another room, certain he'd be waking soon.

The room was dimly lit, the lamps snuffed, though candles burned in a few places around the room. There was a collection of men about the room, settled on couches and discussing the mundane while sipping alcohol and nursing on cigarettes. At the sight of a nude figure in Mister Hannen's arms, the interest immediately shifted. He carefully deposited the man on the available fainting couch. "He should wake soon," Mister Hannen spoke as he moved to sit in an armchair to wait for the man to wake, taking up a cigarette and reaching for a match.


	2. Talk Is Cheap

As the wind blew heavily outside, droplets of snow and hail littering the air, Lyall Moore had found himself carrying his intoxicated father back home once more from the nearest pub. The pattern had begun some time after his mother had past, his father had begun to stumble home in drunken stupors until he had ceased to make it home at all. Lyall had been concerned the first handful of incidences in which his father had found himself in such situations, but had soon acquired the knowledge of where to look if his father didn't stagger through the door past midnight. God only knew what the consequences would be if he'd left the man to his own devices for any longer than such. 

Much to his displeasure, Lyall began work at nine AM, and was discharged at five PM a majority of the days in the week so he was often unable to assist with curbing his father's unhealthy practices. Since the passing of Joseph's sister, Sarah, his habits had exacerbated immensely, and Lyall had done his utmost best to be as strong-willed and patient with his father but there was a limit to how much one could endure of such behaviour, within the fourth night of his father being absent, his son had grown tired of his antics and left him to do as he pleased.

However once the ninth day after Sarah's death had passed, Joseph had almost beat down the door of their home in urgency to protect his only child. Lyall had groggily slid out of bed and made way cautiously to the door before unbolting it, his father shambled clumsily inside his home, not giving Lyall a spare moment to latch the door once more as he took hold of his boy's shoulders, "Lyall, Son. Please promise me you won't leave, please I beg of you don't leave me alone." The drunken man sobbed, his words slurring unintelligibly. The brunet shook his head, heedlessly assuming that his father had simply gotten himself into such a state and had been drunkenly rambling without much thought. He dismissed his father's words and wrapped an arm round his waist to support him, conveying him into his bedroom and settling him down in bed, tugging the covers up over his chest. "Father I would never leave you to your lonesome, you know this do you not?" he attempted to reassure, however by this time his father seemed to already have dozed off, not having captured a word of what he'd said.

The fact of the matter had been that Lyall simply didn't find himself to be attracted to women, of course he'd been approached by quite a few young women, being a rather aesthetically pleasing young man himself, having possessed lightly sun-kissed olive skin, pale green hues and dark, curly hair, however he simply had no interest. At the young age of fourteen, Lyall had begun to notice his attentions had been centered mainly towards males, typically older males in their mid-to-late twenties, however there had only been very few occasions to which he'd acted out on such desires, a majority of the situations had taken place whilst he was intoxicated, however he hadn't advanced any further than simple lip-locking and mild frottage. He hadn't even dreamt of discussing the matter with his father, as it was clear that the man had much more to fret about than possessing a queer son.

**  
The next morning, Before dressing himself appropriately for work, Lyall decided to check up on how his father had been faring since the night before, however his condition of paranoia only seemed to worsen, as he Joseph had begged his son not to leave the house, muttering frantically that he simply desired to keep Lyall safe and didn't want to be left alone. Lyall begrudgingly complied, even going so far as to fasten all doors and windows shut, merely to keep his father's racing mind at rest.

Approximately four days had passed, Joseph's anxiety had eased faintly, however by that stage he hadn't yet felt comfortable with allowing Lyall to leave their home. Once the fourth day had passed, Joseph felt reassured enough to make his way to the shops to retrieve some supplies and edible food. Lyall decided on finalizing a document that he was to deliver to his supervisor by the time the week concluded, however as he was making way into the study to finish off the piece, he was gripped from behind and a dampened cloth had been pressed over his mouth and nose, obstructing his breathing and causing his eyes to water as he was enveloped in darkness.

 

Mister Hannen took a drag from his cigarette, waving the match in the air to put out the flame. He examined the young man with a decided interest. He blew out smoke. He looked at his company of men around the room with him, "He's certainly good looking," he noted. There were murmurs of agreement from the other men. 

As consciousness washed over young Lyall Moore once more, the boy gave out a shaky groan as his eyes fluttered slowly open, at first impression it seemed as though he may have been caught in a dream, as his surroundings felt surreal and he was unsure of whether this was reality or not. He had been laid down onto a black velvet fainting couch that had been situated in the centre of an elevated stage at the fore-end of the room, there had been a man who seemed to have reached his late-twenties sat rather haughtily in an armchair just a few feet apart from Lyall, below the stage there had been a variety of men sat at tables, most with a drink of some sort in hand. A majority of the men seemed to be middle-aged, varying from different backgrounds it seemed, and others were in their early twenties and thirties, to Lyall it seemed quite an odd setting, what had his purpose been in such a place? He wasn't quite sure. The seventeen year old attempted to yell for help, however a long strip of cloth had been tied around his mouth, serving as a gag and muffling any sound Lyall had attempted to make, he began to lose his nerve, struggling and squirming against his restraints and whimpering in terror.

When he began to struggle, Mister Hannen sat up a little straighter, shushing him gently and smiling sympathetically. His expression was empathetic, but he had never been known to be a particularly merciful sort. His wealth hadn't come from nowhere. Nobody really knew what he did outside of gambling, but he made serious earnings that way. Scotland Yard had never paid him any mind. He operated however he wished without the wandering eye of investigative forces. Mister Hannen poured himself whisky and tapped ash from his cigarette carelessly into a mostly empty teacup on the table before him. 

He looked the young man over again, causing him to shift and fidget with discomfort under his gaze. He was one of the more beautiful young men he'd gotten his hands on recently. Handsome enough to earn women's attention, beautiful enough to earn men's. He'd make a fine sell. He mused on how long he'd have to train him before he could properly prostitute him with little worry. Homosexual activity was illegal, but the homosexual brothels were fairly common. He was quite familiar with multiple and ran a few himself. Keeping women was easy, but he preferred male company himself. "I imagine ten shillings would be a fair price," Mister Hannen said, "Maybe even twelve," he smiled.

"I'd pay twelve shillings to rent a boy like him," one of the men said. 

The young man glanced back and forth from the two men who had been discussing prices, beginning to come to the realization as to what his purpose in such a place had been, he was to be auctioned off to some lewd deviant as if he were a cheap whore. Knowing that he was to arrive to such a dismal fate caused him to hang his head low with despair.

Mister Hannen looked pleased, "Then perhaps that will be a good starting price," he rose and moved towards him, eliciting a frightened whimper from the young man. "Don't scream," he said, his voice bearing a patience it was unlikely he really had; he gently untied the cloth and removed the gag, stepping back to sit down, "So, Mister Moore," he started, "What's your primary name?" He asked, "I beg you don't act too panicked, by the by. I'd rather not argue," he took a drink of his whisky.  

Once the makeshift gag was stripped from his mouth, Lyall swiped his tongue across his chapped lips in an attempt to ease the lack of moisture before anxiously replying to the man who had unfastened the gag round his mouth, "L-Lyall." He muttered, voice hoarse and weak sounding.

"Ah, damn, a stutterer," one of the men grumbled, "Never was a fan of speech impediments, personally." 

Mister Hannen laughed, "Lyall," he repeated, "Well, Mister Lyall Moore, I'm Mister Valentine Hannen," he said, nearly offering a hand to shake and mentally berating himself for the twitch of his wrist, "I do trust the stutter was little more than anxiety. I wouldn't wish to beat the impediment from your tongue," he spoke calmly, calculated and slow, the threat causing Lyall to nod his head almost frantically, "Now, then," he leaned back in his chair, taking up his cigarette and breathing in deep, "I regret to inform you that I won't be letting you go," he didn't regret a thing, but that was neither here nor there, at this the younger man hung his head low heavy-heartedly."You are my property now, Mister Moore, and I intend to get some use out of you. I'll train you quite well and you'll make a right proper little whore," his smile could almost be called content, though there was a wickedness in his eyes, slightly narrowed, staring him down like prey, that betrayed his attempt at coming off a gentle; he was like a wolf, a liar, a predator settled in the reeds waiting to strike him down.

There was a subtlety in his actions. He kept his posture relaxed, making sure to come off the least physically threatening he could manage effectively. He kept his shoulders lax, his wrists loose, nothing tight, nothing taut, everything casual and nonthreatening. He took a drink of whisky. He didn't want to intimidate the young man, but he was intent on making him know who was in charge. One of the other men was leering at Lyall with great interest, "Twelve shillings you said, yeah?"

"Yes, but he must be trained first," Mister Hannen said, "One does not sell an inadequate whore, especially to someone he wants to retain as a customer," he smiled at the man, "Patience. He'll make you a happy man when I know he won't fight."

The man groaned and took a drink of his whisky, "Don't see what it matters. Pin him down and stuff 'im good and he won't get away anyway."

"Yes, but you will damage my merchandise. If he's roughed up, he'll need time to recuperate and that's time he could be making money."

"Sell 'im anyway."

By this point, Lyall's eyes were widened in alarm and his eyes were desperately flickering between the two negotiating/arguing men, he had been unsure of how he managed to find himself in such a situation, there was nothing he could have possibly implemented to have deserved this...

"Would you buy a battered whore for a pound?" 

"Not for a pound, no. Maybe eight shillings."

"And that is why you can't just have him now," Mister Hannen folded a leg over the other and looked back to Lyall, "Don't you worry, pretty little pup. I'll take good care of you," he offered an almost sincere looking smile and reached a hand over to stroke the boy's cheek somewhat affectionately.

The boy reflexively flinched at the man's touch, and attempted to shuffle backwards however his restraints hindered his movements almost completely, the rope had been tied so firmly that there was only just enough space so that circulation wouldn't have been cut off within time. The harsh, frayed fabric of rope tied around his wrists and ankles had been chafing wretchedly against Lyall's peachy olive skin, causing the skin there to become red and irritated. 

After a few more minutes of negotiating and idle chat, Valentine rose from the armchair he'd been lounging on and settled the whiskey glass on the coffee table beside him. He knelt down in front of Lyall and unlocked the chains that were binding him to the floor, the younger male looked up at him with teary eyes, "P-Please S-Sir I don't know what I've done to deserve such treatment, please just don't hurt me.." he sniffled pathetically, lower lip quivering.

A few of the men chuckled when Lyall spoke. Mister Hannen lifted a hand to silence them, frowning in their general direction. He looked to Lyall, "Don't you worry," he said, "I'm not going to hurt you," he smiled at him, "Don't you worry your pretty little head about that. I will keep your safe from all these ruffians," he took a slow drag and blew out a hazy cloud.

One of the men scoffed. Valentine Hannen was a devil in disguise. He was charming and handsome and could lie as easy as he breathed, make himself out to be caring and kind when, in reality, he couldn't care less about the people he kept, would do anything to them if it meant they'd obey, and his current company was quite aware of his practices. He tapped ash into the teacup again and took another swig of whisky. He looked Lyall over again. He smiled. "On the bright side, I think I've determined that people will like you," he stood up and stuck the cigarette in his mouth, "Let's get you settled in bed for the night. I'll set to training you in the morning," he said, leaning to lift him into his arms.

Some of the men muttered their grievances at losing their eye candy, but Mister Hannen ignored them. He carried Lyall from the room and down a hall to another room. He lowered him onto a bed. The room was pretty bland, and it was dark. The light from the streetlamps just barely found its way to the window. It was hard to make anything out around the room, but Mister Hannen had a good grasp of where he was going. He tucked Lyall in and took a step back, "Go to sleep. If you try to escape, I will find you, and I will kill you," he said, "Good night," he moved back to the door, "Sweet dreams," he shut the door behind him as he walked out.

He lingered in the hall for five minutes or thereabout before he walked away, waiting and listening for any evident movement. He figured the man was smart enough not to struggle immediately. He wasn't too concerned. He was still bound. The worst he could do is fall on the floor and he'd hear that. He walked away to reconvene with his company, finish the bottle of whisky he'd brought out, and then retire himself. So long as Lyall didn't prove to be a problem, of course.

Meanwhile Lyall had curled into himself and shut his eyes once he'd been settled into the bed, tears streaming down his cheeks as silent sobs wracked his body, he hadn't been too sure of how long he'd been laying there before sleep overtook him, but it didn't seem to take too long for him to drift off.

In the night, Mister Hannen had returned to the cluster of men he'd been speaking with before. He spent a long while drinking and smoking and laughing about silly things and talking business as he saw fit to do so. He gave little more thought to Lyall until another man mentioned him once more. He wasn't sure what to say about it, though. He would charge at least a pound for him, he'd decided, but how would he dress him? How would he train him? He could dress him up nice and keep him clean and gradually charge more as he gained popularity. He considered that line of thought for a while as the men discussed some of his other whores. He supposed when it got down to it, it would really depend on Lyall himself and how he'd behave through training and what he'd be willing to undergo with his dress. He didn't spend much longer than he felt he had to thinking about work and he let his thoughts drift to more innocent places, more lighthearted places. He lost time with alcohol and laughter and, late into the night, he'd quite forgotten about Lyall.

His companions rose to leave, ruddy faced and still laughing every so often, sometimes at nothing. He walked them all to the door and bade them good night, his own thoughts swimming in a haze in his head. He shut the door, locked it, and made his way to bed. He paused by Lyall's door and considered checking on him. He was tied up and the door was locked. How could he go anywhere? They were on the third floor, too, and trying to leave by that way would likely lead to his death. He figured he was still in there and he didn't worry about it. He let his worries drift back from his head and he stumbled down the hall towards his room. He flopped down on the bed and laid there listening to his heart beat. He was having trouble sleeping. He realized he'd been laying in the dark with his eyes open. He closed them and was asleep moments later.


	3. Who you gonna turn to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize sincerely for taking so long on this chapter! I've been rather busy with college and i'm so sorry if this chapter seems rushed in any way. Hopefully I can get back to updating fairly regularly soon enough. Anyway thank you for being so patient with me, please enjoy!

The pale light of the sun's rays had begun to leak through thin curtains, providing a somewhat weak source of light for the room, this prompted the awakening of the young brunet occupying the room. Lyall immediately felt engulfed in a feeling of terror as he awoke still bound, cheeks raw and eyes blurry from the sheer amount of crying he'd done the night before, he sighed in defeat as he recalled his situation. He was confused as to how he'd found himself in such a predicament, he'd never engaged in any sort of illegal activity before and had never came across a character such as Mister Hannen... From what he knew. He began to dwell on smaller details, intent on finding some form of reason as to why this was happening to him of all people, he was a simple young man, and had worked a desk job prior to being abducted, didn't get involved in drugs or any sort of gang-related activity- heck he hadn't even been aware of the existence of such in his area. The boy could come to no conclusion no matter how hard he'd thought about it, and so settled on the presumption that this was his fate. This was what was to happen to him and there would be nothing he could do of it. Lyall found that his breath had quickened a little, as though something was weighing down heavily on his chest, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes once more and a choked sob bubbled from his throat, muscles going lax as he surrendered to his overwhelming emotions.

Just when Lyall was in the worst possible way, there was a prompt rap on the door that caused his entire body to stiffen, he wasn't quite sure as to what he was to do, and so he'd decided to feign sleep, shutting his eyes and attempting to regulate his breathing pattern, however that wasn't so simple as his heart was madly racing and he felt claustrophobic as though he was being smothered. Panic set in that much more when the loud click from the door nob turning echoed loudly in the otherwise silent room, Lyall nestled into the sheets and pillows, hoping that whoever it had been was mistaken for another room.

"Good morning Lyall." A voice chirped from the direction of the door, Lyall had been facing the wall so he wasn't able to tell from appearance, however judging from the deep, velvety tone of the male's voice, he'd assumed it belonged to Mister Hannen from the night before. 

The younger male stayed silent, hoping that Valentine had assumed he was still unconscious, "I know you're awake. You don't want to play games with me, boy, I certainly don't play nice." 

Valentine's little scolding had caused Lyall to become slightly anxious, he wasn't sure of what would happen to him had he managed to get onto Mister Hannen's bad side but he didn't want to find out, and so he skittishly apologized, trying to shift himself into a sitting position. 

"I'll let you off... This time." He warned, moving forward to aid the boy, he uncovered the duvet from Lyall's nude body, sending a chill down his spine as the older male sat himself down for a moment, "Now i'm going to untie your ankles, however if I even sense an attempt that you try to kick me or something or other there will be consequences. Do you understand?" Lyall nodded, disheartened, prompting Valentine to take hold of the boy's chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted his head so that the younger male held his gaze. "Hmm? What was that?" "Y-Yes Mister Hannen, I understand." Lyall stuttered, trembling slightly, perhaps from the bitter air or perhaps from Valentine's unsettling presence, he actually wasn't quite certain himself. 

From the closer angle that he had been at, it had been easier for Valentine to see the affect that being taken had taken on the boy, his eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with red and his nose had turned a pink shade and was a little moist, evident that he'd spent all night and perhaps all morning crying. The brunet felt the slightest pang of remorse having seen such a pretty face tainted by tears and snot, "No more of this crying either, you'll only sicken yourself." he uttered, retrieving a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his blazer and gently wiping at the boy's cheeks before he reverted his attentions to unravelling the rope from Lyall's ankles. "Now then lets get you started- Ah, wait you'll be needing the bathroom won't you?" Mister Hannen announced, helping the young brunet out of bed and leading him towards the direction of the restroom.

As Lyall entered the bathroom, the first thing he noticed was his reflection in the mirror, he'd looked drained from all the raw emotion he'd released the night before, skin appearing to be pale and sickly, defeat evident in his reddened eyes. Once he had finished freshening up to the best of his ability with his wrists still tied together, he returned to Mister Hannen, who had been waiting for him outside of the bathroom, leaning absent-mindedly against the wall. 

"Follow me then." He held onto the rope binding Lyall's wrists together so as to leave no room for escape and was about to lead the boy down the hallway until he realised that he seemed unwilling to risk being seen disrobed, "Don't fret, the other whores and workers are often still fast asleep by this time, the lazy louts." This seemed to calm the other a little, and he hesitantly followed Valentine along as he began to explain the basics of his training. "Now unfortunately due to other business and establishments that beckon my attention, I shan't always be present to train you. No worries however, when I am unable to attend you, you will be left in the care of my good friend, James. I would say that he is more suited to training however there are some details I wish to ingrain into your training that he simply can't I'm afraid." Valentine glanced at Lyall for a moment and chuckled at the horrified expression that had been fixed on his features.

Once the two had reached their destination, Valentine double-checked that it had been the correct room number before nodding to himself and opening the door. As he stepped forward to enter the room he found that Lyall had been trying to stay put, tugging him back slightly, "I can understand that you do not wish to continue with this, however I have warned you once before, and the more difficult you make this for me the more difficult I will make this for you. Now, are you going to stop this behaviour or shall I have to collar you and drag you in here like a disobedient little pup?"


	4. Baby Steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, apologies for taking my time, please enjoy, and thank you for reading! <3

Unfortunately there wasn't an array of options from which Lyall could have chosen from, either he could be stubborn and refuse to enter the room- a decision which would presumably result in some form of punishment, Valentine had been certain to make that fact clear, or he could comply and hopefully avoid witnessing the older male's bad side. It seemed that the latter would have been the most sensible choice, and so he begrudgingly trudged along into the room. "Wise choice." Mister Hannen swiftly shut the door and bolted the lock to prove the room occupied to anyone that may have wished to enter before making his way over to the dresser. The room was adorned identically to the room that Lyall had slept in the previous night, the same bland walls and the same set of furniture, albeit arranged ever so slightly differently. He pressed his foot against the junction in between the wall and the wooden floor after a moment or two of fumbling, the sound of cogs and gears underneath the wall and floorboards could be heard as a fragment of the wall withdrew and moved to the side, revealing a smaller, secluded room. Lyall's eyes widened with horror as his hazel hues scoured the contents of the room, It hadn't been particularly large, more like a modified closet of sorts, there was sex toys of various shapes and sizes organized neatly on some shelves and miscellaneous outfits organized by size and colour on a rack across from the shelves.

Valentine stepped inside the room before glancing back at Lyall, expecting the boy to follow along, however the brunet shook his head, stepping back towards the door as Valentine paced towards him, "I don't wish to have to do this, however you leave me no choice." The older male gave a mock sigh, as though this was some form of inconvenience to him. "No, no no I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'll do what you want!" The boy shrieked, trying to back up as the male grasped his wrist with a vice-like grip, dragging him towards the bed, "I have cautioned you twice now, you're going to need to grasp onto my orders one way or another." Valentine apprised sternly, seating himself on the mattress and hauling the younger brunet with him, placing one hand on the boy's abdomen and the other pushing roughly in between his shoulder blades, so as to yank him down over his lap.  
"I-I won't do it again! I promise.." Lyall whimpered, the awkward position causing him to fidget endlessly. The bed frame had been adequately low-risen to where he had been positioned on his hands and knees over Valentine's lap, the older male's knee jutting uncomfortably into the soft, sensitive flesh of his lower stomach.

A malevolent chuckle bubbled from Mister Hannen's throat, "You are rather comely Lyall, I'll give you that. I'll start you off with twenty, and If you behave that will be all.. For now."  
Twenty what? The boy thought, squirming and writhing on Mister Hannen's lap as the male placed a hand on his hip to try and steady him, "Quit your squirming." Valentine uttered sternly, "Sorry.." Lyall gave a soft sigh and fixated his gaze on the cold, wooden floor. His eyes flew wide open and his entire body became stiff as an unexpected smack was delivered to his backside, the brunet shrieked and attempted to scramble off of the older male's lap, tears gathering in his eyes and threatening to spill over. Valentine tightened his grip on the boy's hip and yanked him back, forcing him to stay still as he continued to distribute strikes at an unrelenting pace, each and every blow caused the boy to jolt and elicited high-pitched noises from him.  

By the seventh strike Lyall had broken down into a fit of sobs, pleading with his captor to stop with this horrid 'punishment' however Valentine didn't display any mercy, if anything he became more brutal with his blows, causing the brunet to dig his fingernails into Valentine's thigh as he tried to his fullest extent to stay still, the impact of each slap never failing to startle him into jolting each time. 

Once Valentine had finished, he began to smooth the palm of his hand over Lyall's pink, raw skin, precipitating a petty whimper from the younger male. After a moment or two, the boy was hoisted upright in the male's lap, he squirmed a little bit, his sore flesh chafing uncomfortably against the fabric of his captor's trousers before he simply slumped down in defeat. "Now have you learnt your lesson?" Mister Hannen questioned as he settled his hands on the brunet's waist to steady him, the boy had been trembling, his lip quivered as he sniffled and wept, nodding his head at the question. "Sorry I couldn't quite catch that, repeat yourself for me." The older of the two requested mockingly, feigning that he'd been hard of hearing. "Y-Yes Mister Hannen, I'm sorry.. It w-won't happen again." Lyall muttered in between sharp intakes of breath, the man chuckled and brought a hand up to wipe the boy's tears from his dampened cheeks, "Good boy." The two remained as such for a moment or two, Lyall taking deep breaths to try and calm himself, the soft strokes to his sides making his skin crawl.


End file.
